Hunted
by muhnemma
Summary: Season two. Buffy finds another way to stop Acathala without sending Angel to Hell, but Willow's spell to restore his soul fails. Buffy flees to LA with Angelus in pursuit.
1. Escape

Nine am. That meant at least another nine or ten hours of sunlight. Probably more, but Buffy would call it ten at the most just to be on the safe side. Ten hours until the sun sank and Angelus emerged from his mansion, injured and furious and baying for her blood. How far could she get in that time?

In the end she just couldn't kill him. God knows she'd tried, but after she sank her blade into his chest she couldn't bring herself to push him into the vortex that would consume him. Instead she'd ripped the sword from his body and thrown it, coated in his vampiric blood, into the portal, closing Acathala's mouth and saving the world. From his position on the floor, Angelus watched, growling and cursing Buffy but too weak to attack her. After driving a final kick into his ribs, she'd left the mansion.

As she walked into the daylight she felt completely lost. Who could she go to? Her mother was completely out of the question: she'd made it perfectly clear that Buffy shouldn't return home. How could she go back to her friends after passing up yet another opportunity to kill Angelus? How could she ever look any of them in the eye again, knowing that she'd let the monster who had caused them so much pain live? She couldn't. Staying in Sunnydale was no longer an option. She had to get out.

With only a small bag of clothes in her hand and a last look at her friends to sustain her, she'd headed to the bus depot and bought a one way ticket to LA. The city had two major attractions for her. The biggest one was that it was enormous; Angelus (or anyone else who might want to track her down) could probably search for years without finding her. As well as that it was the next bus scheduled to leave the station, and a speedy escape was top on her list of priorities.

"Anyone for the 9.15 to Los Angeles? The 9.15 to Los Angeles is leaving now."

Buffy jolted out of her seat and grabbed her bag. She hurried outside and handed her ticket to an impatient bus driver, who glanced at it briefly and nodded before waving her onboard. Settling herself down in a window seat, she felt something close to relief at the thought that she would be gone soon. As the bus pulled away from the station, only one worry gnawed at her. She desperately hoped that Angelus would be enraged enough to bypass tormenting her friends and begin hunting for her straight away. If he decided to go after them first she wouldn't be there to save them.

* * *

Angelus ripped off his shirt in one smooth motion. His lips peeled back revealing wicked looking fangs as he inspected the damage. The wound wasn't anywhere near as bad as he thought it would be. It hurt like hell, but it would heal soon enough, and until then it wouldn't hinder him too much. As soon as he got some warm blood in him he'd be ready to face another night. He didn't relish the thought of hunting with a gaping hole in his chest, but he no longer had Dru to bring him something young and tasty. 

He dropped onto the sofa and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He knew he should sleep to aid the healing process that was already beginning but it would be pointless to even try; he was too furious to rest. Only the knowledge that he couldn't take on Buffy in his current state kept him from descending into the sewers and hunting her down.

"_Bitch." _He snarled, playing over the events of the day in his head. Who'd have thought that she'd actually manage to stop him? It shouldn't have happened. He was two and a half centuries old and she, by the definitions of her society, hadn't even reached adulthood yet. Slayer or no, he should have bested her. The saving grace was that she'd had the chance to kill him and failed to carry out her duty. He'd lain at her feet, not exactly helpless but closer to it than he liked to admit, and she'd walked away. He still had some measure of control over her, even if it was small, which meant that she could be soundly punished for snatching away his victory.

On top of that was Spike's betrayal and his escape with Drusilla, but he'd have to deal with that whelp later. Far more pressing was the need to find Buffy and extract his vengeance. His lips curled into a cruel smile as he began to formulate various ways to torment her. He didn't know exactly what he was going to do yet but it would be long and painful and would make what he'd done to Dru when she was a mortal look like a day in the park.

Turning onto his side, he forced himself to shut his eyes. If he wanted to have fun with his Slayer tonight he'd need to spend the rest of the day resting and healing. Thoughts of Buffy, broken and damned, drifted idly through his mind, lulling him into a deep sleep.

* * *

_Dear Willow,_

_I'm sorry. _

Buffy paused, unsure of what to write next. Several pieces of paper were spread out in front of her on the greasy table. Although they were addressed to different people they all bore the same sentiment. _Dear Giles, I'm sorry. Dear Xander, I'm sorry. Dear Mom, I'm sorry. Dear Jenny, I'm sorry. Dear Angel, I'm sorry. _

She just didn't know what else to write. It seemed that all she knew how to do was apologise and self castigate. Not that it mattered. The letters would never be sent, they were more for her benefit than anyone else's. She'd heard somewhere that writing letters like this was supposed to be therapeutic, but so far it was doing nothing to ease the suffocating guilt that weighed down on her.

"Hey sweetheart!" The café owner, even greasier than his tables, called from behind the till. "This aint a library, buy a cup of coffee or get out."

Buffy blushed and gathered up the pieces of paper quickly, shoving them deep into her bag. She stood and, head down, began to hurry to the door, but as she reached the café owner she paused. "Excuse me." She murmured, stepping up to the till.

"What is it, sugar?" The owner leered at her, openly ogling her body through her loose fitting clothes. A wave of anger rose within Buffy but she bit it down quickly.

"I was wondering if you had any jobs going?"

"Well…" He actually leaned over the counter to get a better look at her, his eyes raking over her chest and then down her legs. Her fingers itched with the urge to curl into a fist and slam into his face but she managed to control herself. She needed the job and the money. "For you," He said, eyes returning briefly to her face before continuing their exploration of the rest of her body. "I'm sure we can find something."

"Thanks." She said, doing her best to smile sweetly.

"I hope you don't mind late nights, all I've got is then 10 'til 6 shift."

Buffy grimaced. "Don't worry, I'm used to the night shift."


	2. Bruises and Tears

Buffy twisted her hair up onto the top of her head and fastened it with a small clasp. She winced as she quickly glanced at herself in the cracked mirror. Despite carefully applying layers of make up with a hand practised at concealing battle wounds, several bruises (painful reminders of her fight with Angelus) were still visible on her face. Not that it mattered; she had a feeling that no one would be paying attention to her face tonight. Ray, her charming new boss, had provided her with a uniform that was at least two sizes too small for her, meaning that it was both uncomfortably tight and short. Handing over the dress with a smarmy grin, he had said that it was the only size left, but Buffy guessed that it was more for his visual pleasure and for the benefit of the male clientele, who would probably buy an extra slice of pie if it meant that they could ogle the waitress's chest as she served it to them. Nevertheless, she had accepted the uniform with no more complaint than a raised eyebrow. She couldn't afford to turn down jobs.

A look at her watch told her that she was already running late; if she didn't leave within the next couple of minutes she wouldn't make it on time. The search for an apartment had taken up most of the afternoon, sapping her time. As with her new job, she had jumped on the first one she was offered, wanting more than anything to be sure of a roof over her heard that night. A part of her wished she had spent more time looking for a place that was at least a little more decent, but the more sensible part of her said that she wouldn't have found anything better no matter how long she searched. She'd been in more comfortable crypts than this place, but it was as cheap as they came and more than anything she needed to save what little money she had.

Stuffing her feet into a worn pair of sneakers, she grabbed a jacket (so thin that it was probably useless to wear it for all the good it would do keeping her warm) and headed to the door. She slipped out into the dank corridor, firmly shutting and locking the door behind her. She ran down the stairs, taking the steps two or three at a time, and emerged onto the street, preparing to take whatever the first night of her new life would throw at her.

* * *

He'd overslept. He couldn't believehe'd overslept. In all his years as a vampire, Angelus had never once slept past sunset when he'd been determined to spend all night tormenting one of his more special victims. It was all _her _fault of course, the annoying little Slayer who he just couldn't seem to shake. The audacious bitch had ripped open a gaping wound in his chest, confining him to his bed for the entire day and for the first few hours of precious darkness. It was another one of those humiliations that she kept inflicting on him. He remembered all of them, and pretty soon he would make her pay for each of them. Every. Single. One. Starting from the first time she had pouted those sinfully sensuous lips at Soul Boy and made him swoon. 

He moved swiftly through the darkened streets, focussed entirely on reaching his destination: Buffy's house. He may not be able to enter her little sanctuary, but he could at least steal a glimpse of her and find out what she was doing. If she wasn't there, all the better. It would mean she would either be playing the righteous warrior and patrolling one of the city's many cemeteries or cooped up in the library in yet another useless meeting with her pathetic friends. Either was fine with Angelus. Neither of those places would afford her any protection tonight.

It wasn't long before he reached her house and he was soon scaling the tree at the back, the top branches of which would give him a perfect view of her room. He scooted to the end of a branch that would hold his weight and settled himself down, peering through the window.

The room had a single occupant; but it wasn't Buffy. Joyce Summers shuffled around her daughter's bedroom, somehow managing to look more dead than any vampire Angelus had ever seen. Her red rimmed eyes stood out shockingly in her colourless face, and she moved as if she had two great weights tied to her feet. She kept touching Buffy's things, sometimes lightly caressing a treasured trinket, sometimes rubbing her cheek against the fabric of a shirt or dress. Eventually she collapsed onto the bed and began to cry. Not dainty tears, but great heaving sobs that Angelus probably could have heard without the benefit of his vampiric hearing.

He dropped silently from the tree onto the soft grass below. This didn't make sense. His immediate, panicked thought was that Buffy was dead, her throat ripped out by some undeserving fledgling when she was off guard. His face slipped into its demonic mask at the thought, and he swore that whatever errant cub had snatched away his chance of breaking the Slayer would be dust before dawn. Then he forced himself to calm down. No matter how distracted she was, Buffy could still be deadly. The day after her birthday he'd shattered both her heart and her pride but she still went on to blow a supposedly indefeatabledemon to kingdom come.

Even so, something about this wasn't right. Angelus left the Summers residence, intent on paying a visit to Buffy's best friend.

* * *

"No, nothing. I was hoping that you would have." Willow frowned, twisting the phone cord anxiously around her hand. Oz sat patiently on the end of her bed, idly flicking through one of Willow's books while she was busy. 

"I spoke to her after I got home from school, but mom said she was ringing all day. I think she was hoping it was some kind of trick and Buffy was hiding out here." There was a brief pause as Willow listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. "I will. Same goes for you. See you tomorrow." She placed the phone back in its cradle and then buried her face in her hands.

Oz left the bed and knelt next to her wheelchair. "Anything?" He asked quietly, stroking her arm.

"Nothing!" Willow burst out, looking up for long enough for Oz to see that there were tears welling in her eyes. "No one has heard anything! Not Xander or Cordelia or Giles, and all her mom got was a note."

"A note? Well at least we know she's not…" Oz broke off, not wanting to vocalise the idea that had been terrorising Buffy's friends all day. "Maybe she went off with Angel." He said hopefully, although he didn't really believe it himself.

Willow shook her head wordlessly. If Buffy had Angel back she wouldn't have felt the need to disappear. The spell to restore his soul mustn't have worked.

"Come on," Oz said gently, standing up and wheeling her to the door. "We need cookies."

Angelus watched the two leave the room and disappear from sight. So Buffy had decided to do a disappearing act? Well that was fine by him. She wouldn't be difficult to find, and if she proved trickier to locate than he was expecting he had ways of luring her out. Most of them involved his fangs and the pretty little neck of the wannabe witch who had tried to burden him with a soul again.


End file.
